Big Sur in the setting sun


I watch an astral chakra-like orb erupt from the setting sun over the ocean and I want Big Sur to offer a standing ovation. Instead it stands there humble and majestic. The fog at its shoulders adding air to its mountainous earthen body. But still dormant all the same. The fireball to its western quarters turning the rest of this paradise all shades of orange, pink, and purple with its verbose volleys of natural energy, being thrown every which way. And this mountain lies still its own diverse network of patterns, gullies, and rock beaten frequencies unchanged. You’d think this rolling back of daylight into nighttime would rattle even the thickest of wills. But no match for this mountain rushing with all its own land mass back into the sea in a giant glorious sweep of might and fury. The ocean crashing at its feet and the fog continuing to roll in over its head covering the whole body of it all while dark continues to deepen and night continues expanding forward onto the horizon giving cloak to hulk to mountain to hull and shell to sea and earth and heavens all over again once more.


Big Sur in the setting sun

The Purpose of A Poet


Thunder showers pass over the city
Washing away all of this heat wave
Along with the aggression
The confusion
The violence
The starvation
We are going to live through this summer
And this rainwater is going to nurture us like no other.

A poet’s job is to breech people’s short attention spans with a timelessness that exposes them to another layer of reality. This new layer could involve mythology. Or it could be all astrology. Mescaline or some other pseudoscience. Acid and dream theory. Meditation or just plain simple unrelenting intimacy.

The point though is that we are in fact a very closed sort of people. Poetry is the life force to open us up. The same could be said about all forms of art, though with poetry this process just happens to be the most literal.

The best poetry is that which connects the greatest amount of people to this other side. To do so, it needs to be simple. It needs to be in the same language as that which is popular at the time. It needs to do all of this and somehow still manage to stand the test of time. So that it stays current for many more generations to come.

This is what makes good poetry hard. It’s also what makes it so easy.

None of this clouded meaning, inside joke, tongue in cheek, meta drivel.

We need something that is real. Something honest. That’s got feeling.
The word on the street.
Leave no reader behind.

The Purpose of A Poet